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"The Rattlesnake
Who Enjoyed Elvis"
Chapter 13 of a novel
by Claude Hall
I wanted a Holiday House
burger.
"Steak," insisted Cactus.
"Take the burger," suggested Garcia.
"If you're going to clank us behind bars, I want a
giant charcoaled steak. They do not serve steaks in
jail."
"In his jail, it's probably refrito frijoles three
times a day," I told Cactus. Garcia rubbed his chin.
Obviously, he'd not been home in quite a few hours
because he needed a shave.
"It's my day off," he said. "Maybe I'll arrest you
guys Monday."
"In that case, would you like to burger down with us?"
"Thought you'd never ask," said the detective.
Burger fanatics are as terrible as those idiots who
think they can cook chili; good chili happens by
accident, never by plan. And many of those who like
burgers think that Cassel's in downtown Los Angeles on
Sixth Street has a good burger and people drive up to
30 miles and stand in line to get one. But no burger
anywhere in the world can compare with those at
Holiday House. The meat is charcoaled and then
covered with fresh cheddar cheese and that's topped
with a special sauce. I've seen people order a second
Holiday House burger halfway through their first.
It's that good.
We followed the detective's car down to Barton Springs
Road and parked in the lot beside the restaurant just
as the sky began to grow dark under the looming
thunderhead. The thunderhead had started small. It
was now a giant. Lightning flashed occasionally from
its gut. Wind whipped trees along the street.
I jumped when an old newspaper brushed against my
feet.
We left Nepi in the Cadillac. He barked.
"Not a chance," I told him. "Dogs aren't allowed."
I left the window cracked on the side away from the
wind.
"You're going to love the food here," I told Cactus.
"Anything outside of jail will taste good," said
Cactus. "I thought we were in big trouble back there
at the apartment."
"We were."
"And still are," said Garcia as we walked into the
restaurant.
"Hogwash, Garcia. If you arrested me, you'd have no
suspect to futz over. Everyone else seems to be
getting dead."
"You're the one who should be worried. Jail on the
one hand. A bashed-in face on the other."
"I can't worry very well on a hungry stomach,'' I
said.
The Holiday House is not your ordinary fancy
restaurant. It's more of a glorified diner. We sat
down in one of the booths.
"You said, 'a bashed-in face'?"
''Comprende,'' said Garcia. He placed special
emphasis on the Spanish word for understand. "His
face was literally crushed to a pulp. Just like the
receptionist."
"So that brings us back to Mr. Two by Four," I said.
"Maybe," said Garcia, though his tone expressed
otherwise. "But maybe not. You see, I can't
understand the mechanics of the killings. One blow
might have killed the receptionist and even Willie.
And maybe they were killed to keep them from talking.
But how-and why-were the faces crushed?"
"Maybe the murderer hit them several times."
Garcia shook his head.
"After the first blow," said Garcia, "the victim would
have fallen to the floor. Now maybe whoever killed
them straightened the body out neatly and then stood
over the body and continued to swing the board or
whatever was used as a murder weapon...swung it like
an ax...like chopping wood."
"But you don't think so?"
"The appearance of the face doesn't look as if that
was what happened. That is, the top of the head
wasn't bruised. Nor the ears. Nor the neck. You
know what I mean?"
"In other words, the aim was too good," said Cactus.
The Holiday House wasn't crowded at the moment. It
was a few minutes after the noon rush. The waitress
was tired. She finally came over in slow motion to
take our order.
"Six of the best hamburgers in the world," I said.
"Just five. I'm on a diet," said Garcia.
"He'll order another one in just a few minutes," I
told Cactus. "Never fails. These hamburgers are so
good you have to have more than one and they're so big
it's almost impossible to eat more than two."
"How do you keep your weight down?" Garcia asked
Cactus.
"Deer hunting," Cactus said.
"Never heard of anyone losing weight on a deer hunt.
They usually have two or three cases of beer along."
"I don't take beer and I don't take a gun. Not even a
bow much these days. All I take is a Boy Scout knife."
"You kill many deer that way?"
"Once or twice. After about four or five days,
though, I usually give up. When I really get hungry,
I take a bow."
"Maybe I should try your Boy Scout method." Garcia
patted his stomach. "Right now, I'm trying the old
grapefruit diet. It worked for me before. There's
only one problem. I get very cranky when I'm dieting.
All that acid."
Cactus nodded his Stetson and looked my direction.
"That means, Smitty, you'd better keep quiet about
peanuts."
"I'm definitely sorry about the peanuts," I said.
Garcia glanced down at his waistline. "Me, too."
"Come out anytime you're ready to really lose some
weigh," Cactus told him. "The reservation is not far
from town."
"What town?"
I laughed.
"Don't tell him, Cactus. Detectives never take a day
off. He's pumping you for information. All that crap
about deer hunting."
Cactus laughed back at me.
"Anyone could realize that, Smitty."
Garcia grinned. "A bit too obvious, huh."
"It's okay," said Cactus and told him the name of the
town and his phone number. "Call me. If I'm not
there, which is more than likely, my secretary will
know where I'm at."
"A secretary?"
"He's the mayor," I said.
"Hush, Smitty," Garcia said. "You take all of the fun
out of something like this."
Both Garcia and Cactus laughed.
"A mayor gets paid pretty well in a town like that,"
said Garcia.
"You mean this suit?"
"Looks expensive."
Cactus pushed his Stetson back a little further on his
head. The tail of his rattlesnake hatband threw off a
chilling rattle.
"I own a few shares of stock in a corporation," said
Cactus. "Dividends pay pretty good. The mayor job
doesn't pay much at all. For example, I couldn't have
chartered a private jet and flown in here this morning
on a mayor's salary."
The hamburgers arrived.
"What you're telling me is that you didn't bash in any
faces because you weren't here."
"Something like that. Anyway, I'm a little old to be
messing in that kind of nonsense."
"Well, at least there's the breaking and entering
charge. Not too old for that, it appears."
"A minor irritation."
"That's interesting. How do you figure it?"
"My corporation could buy the apartment building.
Owners would probably have the right to inspect a
place if they think something is wrong."
Garcia took a bite of his hamburger. "It's fun talking
with you, Mr. Solkowski. Don't bother buying the
apartment. I 'm curious though: Do you have enough
money to buy Smitty out of this trouble he's in?"
"I don't think so," said Cactus. "Price is probably
too high. But I'm willing to help him negotiate."
"That, too, is rather interesting," the detective
said. "I don't guess I need to caution you about
being careful."
"Been careful most of my life."
Garcia looked at me.
"Wish you'd taught the trick to Smitty here."
"Some people," Cactus said, "are unteachable."
Garcia looked at me. "Where's my witch?"
"In San Antonio. I think."
"She is not very happy with Smitty at the moment,"
said Cactus.
Garcia grimaced.
"Hey-sus! What did you do now?"
"I made a mistake," I admitted. "I don't understand
it very much. But I was wrong."
"Didn't you apologize?"
"I tried."
"We need the witch on this Hamish thing," said Garcia.
"I couldn't get him to tell me what was going on at
the institute last time I talked to him. I can't ask
him to sit down at a lie detector unit. All this 'top
secret' jazz irritates the hell out of me. I need
Cindy to see if she can sense anything about him."
I said: "The other night at the Pancho Villa Air
Force, she thought he was a nice guy."
"The atmosphere was wrong. We were drinking. The
music was loud. We need to try again. Besides that,
she has a pretty face and I don't think I want it
given a massage."
"Me neither," I said.
Garcia again looked at me as he plowed through his
hamburger. His face was friendly in that way common
to Mexicans, but his eyes wore the searching
expression of a hungry tiger.
"What would you say if I told you that Dr. Muriet
Jamal Hamish is not affiliated with the university?"
he asked. "At least, they don't seem to know him out
there."
I thought about the information for a while.
"We definitely need to talk to him," I said. "About a
lot of things."
"Not us. Cindy. We've got to get her back up here,"
said Garcia. "I'll telephone her."
"When you were checking things out, did you run across
anything about the Western Scientific Research
Institute?" I asked Garcia.
"You're the one who worked there."
"I was just a quasi-volunteer. Not even on the
payroll. I had an office. But no one seemed to care
whether I used it or not. I heard two or three
college professors also had offices there, but I never
met any of them. Hamish was director. But director
of what?"
Garcia ordered a second hamburger from the waitress.
"We'll check it out," Garcia said.
"Here we go again," I told Cactus.
"The truth is, your Dr. Hamish doesn't have much of a
past," said Garcia. "Nothing we can trace so far,
anyway."
"It's his present that bothers me," I said.
"I'm also curious about why he would want to steal
your computer, if that actually was your computer in
his apartment, when he had a big one?"
"The big one was destroyed, remember?''
"But the kind of research he was doing couldn't be
done on a PC, could it?"
"Not likely," I said. "Maybe he could tie it in via a
modem. Use the Macintosh as a communications device."
"You remember where you bought your computer?"
"A store in Globe, Arizona."
"They'd probably have the serial number on file in
their records."
"I can find out real easy," I told the detective.
But when I tried to locate the telephone number of the
store through long distance information, the store no
longer existed. I hung up the phone and went back to
the table and dove into my second hamburger.
"The store evidently folded," I told Garcia.
"Fine. Just fine."
"Not so fine,'' I said. "I should have checked the
hard drive on the computer in Hamish's apartment. If
there was some information about Camp San Saba on the
hard drive, that was definitely my computer."
"Too late now," said Garcia. "No more breaking and
entering. I might decide to get a little overtime.
Do you understand my drift?" He looked at me with a
long, steady tired expression. "Between an apartment
in Round Rock getting itself blown up and two murders,
I didn't get my usual hour or two of sleep and I don't
particularly need any overtime."
"I will make sure that he understands," said Cactus.
I finished my second hamburger.
"There's nothing worse than having an Indian for a
nursemaid," I said.
"Yes, there is," said Cactus. "Needing one."
(continued next week)
e-mail claude@claudehallonline.com
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May 7, 2007
Commentary
by
Claude Hall
RADIO MATTERS
George Wilson reports that
www.GeorgeWilsonMemoryTunes.com
is doing well.gaining about 60 regular listeners a
week. A recent note to George from George Cuppaidge,
an Australian citizen living in Pakchong,
Nakonrachasima, Thailand: "At last I have found the
radio station of my dreams! Living in Thailand, it is
doubly important to hear some good 'farung'
(non-Asian) music and Memory Tunes provides it with
bells on. I cannot imagine anyone else in the world
would program Buddy Clarke followed by Larry Finnegan,
except me, of course, and you just did it! You have
me as a listener for life. I have only just
discovered you but have probably listened for a total
of ten hours and have not heard a dud yet. Please keep
it up. If I ever happen to just miss one, how long is
it likely to be before it is played again? From time
to time I would like to buy a down load, I own most
already. It usually says 'not available to you'. Any
suggestions?"
Robby Vee, someone Barbara and I have known since he
was a small kid, will be performing with his band at
Decoy's in White Bear Lake, MN, on Friday, May 18!
Good rock! If you're in the area, drop by and say
hello for me and Barbara.
Bill Mouzis, once engineer on KHJ in Los Angeles, says
that just about now you can view original 93 KHJ
History of Rock and Roll memorabilia material and
publicity at
www.93khjhistoryofrockandroll.com.
Related material will continue to be added
periodically.
Joey Reynolds can now be heard on network stations 9
p.m.-2 a.m. EDT. This means, more than likely, via
the Internet, too. as a link. If you're in the
"sticks," such as I, tap into WOR on the Internet. In
the old days, Joey had a cult following. I understand
that the magic is still there. But this new time slot
will allow his fans to at least get a few hours sleep
during the week.
Rollye James, 7 p.m. PDT May 11. XM if you have it.
Internet via her website if you don't. Might be
interesting radio program. I hope.
Just heard from Irwin Zucker. Seems that Don
Whittemore had tipped him off about my website.
Thinking about Irwin and those days of the music
business, ah, what great times we had. I consider
myself very lucky to have been a part of that period
in radio and music. And to have known such people as
Irwin Zucker. Come to think of it, Russ Regan and Bud
Prager, Juggy Gales and George Furness and Don Graham
and Morris Diamond, too. And Don Whittemore and Vince
Cosgrave and Jan Basham. Ah, so very many people.
Great people.
Well, I finished up my emails to some 700 radio and
music people. Promoting my latest novel "Down on the
Corner of Earth" via PublishAmerica.com or Amazon.com.
I send one of the form letters to Toad Hall Inc, a
literary agency, and got a note back about Susan
Jarvis willing to teach me how to write for a zillion
bucks a thousand words. I emailed her back and
thanked her kindly. Why should I try to learn to
write? But the truth of the matter is that if you
think radio may be a little bit screwy at the
moment, well, the book publishing world is south of
that.
Speaking of screwy, I suppose you already know that
Don Imus is suing CBS for $40 million. It's been all
over CNN. If CBS is smart, they'll settle this one
out of court and fast!
POLITICS MATTERS
Pete Seeger
performing at the Newport Folk Festival in the 60s. This past
week Joan Baez was turned down for a performance at the Walter
Reed because she might be a "disturbing influence." Proof
positive, I suppose, of the power of music. But I'm wondering if
music today has lost its grip on reality. Big question: Does
music have the impact and power of yore? Can it still change
things? (Photo by Claude Hall)
Where is Country Joe and the Fish when you need them?
We protest not. Neither in song nor screams of
defiance. We do not sprawl on the highway to protest
the outrageous robbery of gasoline prices. We do not
object at the loss of blood in Iraq, neither our blood
nor theirs. We have become a passive people, afraid
to stand up for our rights, afraid of losing our jobs,
afraid of offending those with the very money they
have, in effect, stolen from us through trivial
salaries, outrageous medical costs, lack of care,
inflation in various aspects of life ranging from food
to electricity. There are those who blame Mexicans (I
dislike the word Hispanics because I love Mexico) when
they are not at fault, California, Texas, New Mexico,
Arizona was their country long before it became our
country and should be shared. There are those who
blame liberals when liberalism is the only solution.
Those who would deny immigrants a good education when
education is the better methodology of culturizing
these people and turning them into valid citizens of
the world. There are those who criticize rappers for
dirty words when their own lives are literally a dirty
word. There are those who blame terrorists and
practice a secret form of terrorism in their lives and
deeds to others and, in fact, in their thoughts.
Literally people against abortions who would let the
same babies starve or die of sickness. The ten
Republicans on MSNBC this past Thursday seeking the
presidency of the United States should all be tarred
and feathered and run out of town. I never saw such a
miserable group of nothings in my life! These are
among the real problems facing America today.
Including McCain. No, I do not criticize his military
service. Yes, I do criticize his politics. And his
humanity.
Because I believe - and believe strongly - that no man
has the right to tell any woman what she should or
should not do. Nor how she should think or not think.
That these 10 men even have the audacity to believe
they have the right is not only ludicrous, but nuts!
I expected that at any moment during the so-called
debate that some woman would come up on stage from the
audience and spit in the eye of one of those men.
They must have screened all of the audience.
Evidently, those people have never met a real woman.
Formed a valid partnership. You certainly had better
not try to tell a Barbara Hall what she should do.
She will smack you right in the eye!
Those men on stage also have no decent concept of
leadership. I realized at the age of 19 that good
leadership was going first where everyone else
intended to go anyway. In thought and in reality.
These 10 men obvious, like their chosen god
Buckenwald, evidently will demand that you and I do
what they wish. Even if death -- such as the growing
number of American soldiers dying in Iraq - is the
outcome. Buchenwald stated this week on television
that he wouldn't send American soldiers to die in Iraq
if it wasn't necessary to prevent terrorism.
What really bothers me, however, is that there seems
to be absolutely little protest involved in music
today. Rap appears to be more interested in cussing
than fussing. Where is the Country Joe or the Pete
Seeger of today? Is the music industry afraid?
Perhaps the way the Dixie Chicks was treated turned
the recording artists of America into lapdogs.
In my opinion, the only terrorist facing America at
the moment is already in the not-so-White House.
Those people in Iraq are merely trying to defend their
home against the invader.
If one of those clowns on stage Thursday night was to
get elected, I'm worried that the farce in Iraq would
merely continue. As well as a another farce here at
home. Because I have been privileged to know some
women here in America who will not put up with the
wishes of any of those 10 idiots on stage Thursday
night.
e-mail claude@claudehallonline.com
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